


Jewel

by webeta123



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Gift Exchange, JohnlockChallenges Exchange, M/M, Medieval AU, Mild Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webeta123/pseuds/webeta123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For imsherlockmotherfuckingholmes, based on their prompt "Medieval AU: prince!Sherlock and personalservant!John" for the johnlockchallenge's Valentine's Day gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jewel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imsherlockmotherfuckingholmes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=imsherlockmotherfuckingholmes).



> I really hope you enjoy this dear! Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> P.S. Yes, I am alive and I will be working on my other ones next.

Sherlock had known from the moment John walked into the room that the end was near. The nervousness in his gaze, the stride at which he walked, and the way that he played with his simple rough tunic said such.

John had been his personal servant since they were children. His sister, whom had a predilection towards alcohol, had sold him after their parents had died in a tragic boating accident and had never looked back. John had been five when this occurred and Sherlock had just turned two. At first neither of them could stand the other. Sherlock was fully convinced that he could handle himself on his own without “a stinky peasant boy” following him around and John was still aching from his sister’s betrayal and had taken it out on Sherlock.

It had come to blows only a few times during the first two years, most of them leading to John being whipped for harming the crown prince of Bart’s. The one time that Sherlock had gotten curious and decided to go watch, he had been horrified. John, then seven, stood in the middle of the stable with his shirt raised over his head and one of the caretakers hitting him again and again with a black leather whip. The boy yelped and cried with every blow. Sherlock had been standing behind the door, observing everything and deciding that he would not allow it to happen again. The pain that was in the boy’s eyes was enough.

As they grew older, their past finally behind them and both of them moving towards at least being able to work together, they realized that they worked together immensely well. A glance between them was no longer hostile but curious. Within moments of such a glance, both boys would be in fits and the adults around them would wonder what had occurred. Sherlock forbid anyone to touch “his John” with a whip ever again.

By the time Sherlock was thirteen, Sherlock and John were inseparable. They shared quarters (separate bedrooms), shared meals (John most commonly served), shared lives and neither of them could find a reason to hate it. Sherlock helped John with their tutoring and John assisted Sherlock with his courtesies. Sherlock was not the best in most social circles and the king and queen had been horrified at the idea of him one day taking the throne if something were to happen to Mycroft.

One memorable occasion had been the Winter Solstice festival that was held at Holmes Manor one year. The large estate had been decked out for the holidays, beautiful holly and garland on every available surface. John had helped carry in one of the trees since he was growing faster and faster and his body was doing its best to keep up. He had added weight from the muscles that came from chasing Sherlock around (most often in jest) and from assisting with the work about the manor.

The dancing portion had beautiful women in silk and pearls and gentlemen in their coat-tails swirling about the hall, arm in arm. The king and queen swirled among them, their crowns glistening in the warm gaslights around them. Mycroft stood by the tables that were loaded down with delicious food made by their chefs, led by Mrs. Hudson who was the main caretaker of the manor since the king and queen were children.

At one point, Mycroft suggested that Sherlock dance with Molly Hooper, the apothecary’s daughter. John had thought she looked very mature for fourteen, her hair up in a stylish bun and a form-fitting black dress with silver trim at the top of it. Sherlock then deduced, in front of her, that the dress had cost almost all of her father’s yearly wage for the fabric alone and that the rouge that she used had been used before by someone else, quickly coming to the conclusion of her aunt by the fact that he had seen her aunt wear the same shade. The girl had been horrified and embarrassed and John slapped him lightly on the arm as an attempt to tell him that was not a good thing. Not a good thing in the slightest.

As they grew older, John began to gain some recognition in the village. His strong muscles from fencing and horseback riding with Sherlock had made him incredibly fit and something of a heartthrob for the village girls. They would coo and giggle together as he went past, collecting groceries for the manor. Sherlock pretended that it didn’t bother him.

Then John met Mary. She was a kind girl, almost Sherlock’s age but younger by a few months. She had a kind heart and a good hand with a sword whenever she was allowed to use it. John had been infatuated by her but it seemed that this love increased whenever Sherlock was told that he would be marrying Irene Adler, the princess of Belgravia. It hurt Sherlock even more so on the nights whenever he would go to the stable so he could do some riding and would find John and Mary there, leaning against one of the pillars and wrapped around each other like snakes. John’s strong back would move as he caressed Mary’s lips with his own, his hand disappearing beneath her skirt and whimpers coming from the girl and the other moving over her dress while one of hers scratched down his tunic and the other working over his rough trousers. Sherlock disappeared into the night so he would not watch them any longer.

Whenever Sherlock first met Irene, she had been beautiful enough and he could find that she matched him intellectually move for move. He could see himself one day desiring her and he attempted to do the same things that John was doing to Mary, if only for understanding. In corridors where few people came, the tall prince would pin her against a stone wall, devouring her. Her nails were like claws in his hair and he swallowed her slight moans as wetness covered his fingers. She never seemed to notice that these incidents would happen directly after Sherlock would see John and Mary together.

He had assumed this without the knowledge that Mary and Irene were well aware of each other.

As John walked into the room, Sherlock felt his heart clench. He would deny it vehemently later as he worked Irene over into fits of orgasm and his whispers of another’s name on his lips. He knew that John and Mary would become married soon, they had to since they had not left the others side since they had begun interacting with each other.

Sherlock stood before John could speak, his heart aching as he drew his sword. John stood stock-still and his eyes turned to those of confusion. “I, Prince Sherlock Alexander Holmes of Bart’s,” His voice had dropped to a low baritone, though it became slightly higher in his attempt to keep himself calm. His sword came onto John’s shoulder. “release John Hamish Watson from his duty as personal servant.” His sword moved over John’s head and onto his other shoulder. John’s eyes widened in understanding. “May you have the best of happiness with your intended bride.” He told him, his heart still clenching as he lowered his sword and sheathed it by his hip.

He knew that he would be alright without John. Irene would make a wonderful wife and one day queen for him. The two of them would create fine heirs and the Holmes family would continue on for generations if all went well. He just wished that his traitorous heart and his traitorous body would calm themselves. That the tears that threatened to fall as though he were a simple child who had fallen on the path would cease their burning. That his chest would not constrict as though a heavy weight were on it.

John merely smiled at him. “Oh Sherlock. The one time you are truly noble is the time that you need not be. You say that you are observant, but do you see a ring box creasing my clothing?” The man held his arms out and Sherlock let his eyes hungrily move over him as though he would never see him again. “I do not plan to marry Mary. The thought did cross my mind admittedly, but there was something far more important to me than that.” He told him with a true smile adorning his lips. “Besides, your fiancée made it very clear to me that she would not appreciate having to go around our marriage to get to her, though she was not afraid to.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. His mind replayed the last few encounters that he had with Irene and realized that while he had been caught up in making sure that John’s name would not slip past his lips, Irene had been muttering a name that was clearly not his own. The only similarity was the fact that both had two syllables. “I appreciate the gesture, my Sherlock, but it is not needed. I will stand by you until both of us depart this world.” In a few strides, John had Sherlock forced back into the small throne that seemed to suddenly dwarf him.

“Your Sherlock?” He questioned quietly. John put a knee on the edge of Sherlock’s thigh to balance himself, both of his hands at either side of Sherlock’s head.

“Just as I am your John.” He agreed. A small sound escaped Sherlock’s lips as John dove down, their lips colliding and teeth clanking. Neither of them could seem to find enough room for the other, find enough breath to steal, find enough skin to touch. The prince’s hands went into John’s long blonde hair, tugging him down as much as possible. His back hit the wood behind him and the thud reverberated in the empty hall.

John was on his knees, his hands still on either side of Sherlock’s head and his body plastered against his own. “I am going to ask your parents if I may court you.” He told him as his hands made quick work of both of their trousers. Sherlock heard another sound that resembled a keening animal. He realized that it was him who made it. “I doubt they will be surprised, your mother seems to be waiting and your brother has been marking dates since we both turned of age.” Their cocks stood together, John’s slightly thicker than Sherlock’s and without the foreskin but otherwise a good size. Sherlock’s was slightly thinner but almost a half-inch taller. John’s rough calloused hands caught both of them and Sherlock keened. “I will court you as you deserve to be courted, my prince. Once we are finished, we will be married and be together as we see fit. Bringing new blood to the line from those who are without parents seems a good substitute. Or we might ask Irene, I doubt she will mind.” His hands moved over both of them at a fast pace, his words matching them as he talked. “You will make a glorious king, my Sherlock and I will proudly be your consort.” Sherlock cried out as his back arched, nearly bucking John off as his seed came in slow bursts and coated John’s hand and their tunics.

John soon joined him over the edge, muffling his cry in Sherlock’s neck and biting it for good measure. Sherlock for all practical purposes melted against the wooden throne he still sat in, though he was half kneeling due to how little he was actually sitting up. He moaned again as his head hit the back of the throne and John slowly climbed off of him and cleaned them both with the edge of his tunic. He tucked Sherlock back into his trousers and kissed him gently, his bruised lips aching in protest but in a manner that Sherlock found enticing.

John looked at him as though he were a lost jewel that he had searched years for.

John was the jewel that had always been his.


End file.
